The Light-keeper
by silvermyth
Summary: The waves had broken above the rocks, leaving a trail of splintered wood, and there, clinging just above the waterline, was a man. Roxas hesitated, searching for a safe path before climbing down to his aid. "Hey. Are you alive?" Roxas groped for the the man's arm, eyes straining against the darkness and rain that was still falling.


**A/N:** AkuRoku month prompt from anon: Horror! But with romance? I have no chill. This is your warning. Also, this fic was heavily inspired by the song "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot. It's a folk song from the 70′s about a shipwreck on Lake Superior (I grew up in the Great Lakes area, and it's a song that's always stood out to me) I borrowed a couple lines, they're italicized. Also, I'd really appreciate it if you guys would let me know what you think!

 **The Light-keeper**

Roxas first saw the lighthouse in daylight, the tower visible from a distance and growing larger in his approach. The light was extinguished, but his escort assured him that its beacon would reach those that needed to see it, and that the fog horn could be heard from as far as the village down in the valley.

He'd needed work, bad, so he didn't question what had become of the previous tenant. All he needed to know was that the position would be permanent. That he was guaranteed a roof over his head, and enough income to live by. Tending to the lighthouse wouldn't be difficult, he was reminded. As long as he could keep it going at night and during inclement weather, as long as he could climb the spiral stairs to the lantern.

Roxas tried not to think too hard about why his guide sent him looks, or asked him, yet again, if he was sure he was up for the job.

"It needs to be done, right?" The grizzled man nodded.

It was early summer still as he settled into the cottage attached to the tower. This far north, it was mild, comfortable, and travelers often passed by, on their way to and from the bay to trade. Storms peppered the the lake shore, and Roxas made sure the light was lit, warning mariners of the treacherous coastline.

Summer wore on, and when he made trips to the village for supplies, he heard whispers, tales. No one knew what had happened to the previous light keeper. He'd disappeared after a spring storm. Roxas dismissed them. If the person before him had abandoned his post, that was their prerogative. Roxas would stay, until better work found him.

He'd never been superstitious, never understood why the fishermen were.

An old native man at the general store called the lake gichi-gami. "It's summer, Light-keeper. Fair weather. When the season changes, you will see. Maybe you'll change your mind."

The days grew shorter and cooler. A ship's captain muttered, "It doesn't hurt to be superstitious." Roxas smiled and nodded him good day, and prepared for the later seasons. He stocked his cellar, following the advice of the locals. Winters were harsh, and that much he would take their word for.

His brother sent him wool; it arrived in early October. He donned the sweater, and wondered just how cold the winter would be. He didn't know about the storms.

It was mid-October when the first one hit, the lake announcing it with turbulent waters even before the gales hit the coast. The sky turned black and rain lashed the glass walls at the top of the lighthouse, but the beacon was lit. The waves crashed against the coast, but with the light to guide them, no ships did.

Or so Roxas thought.

It was the small hours of the morning before the storm calmed enough for Roxas to descend for a meal, and in the glow of a flash of lightning, he caught sight of something on the rocks. A second flicker of white light, and Roxas thought it was something more than debris. He wrapped his coat tighter and ran towards it.

The waves had broken above the rocks, leaving a trail of splintered wood, and there, clinging just above the waterline, was a man. Roxas hesitated, searching for a safe path before climbing down to his aid.

"Hey. Are you alive?" Roxas groped for the the man's arm, eyes straining against the darkness and rain that was still falling.

The man stirred and lifted his head, eyes barely open. "Help…" His voice was hoarse, and barely audible, but he clutched Roxas's reaching hands.

"Come on, then." It was a struggle, pulling him out of the water, since the man was bigger than him—slim, yes, but tall—and weak. He felt cold, even through Roxas's rain coat, even compared to the gust of wind that buffeted them forward, and Roxas hurried them to his cottage, as fast as he could with his burden.

Roxas was breathing hard when he pushed the door open, but beside him, the man's breaths were shallow and weak, and he all but collapsed into the chair Roxas guided him into. Roxas made quick work of shedding his clothes, before turning to the other.

"You'll need to get warm as quick as possible," he murmured. "Best way is skin on skin." The man's clothes were torn and heavy with water, and when Roxas pulled them away, the man was pale as snow, his skin peppered with bruises and abrasions that made Roxas bite his lip.

The man was quiet, eyes half-lidded, and struggling to keep his feet as Roxas guided him to his nest of blankets next to the hearth. "Thank you." It came as a breath, so low that Roxas wasn't even sure he heard it. It was the movement of his lips that made him think he wasn't just imagining it.

Lips that were nearly blue.

Roxas stirred the embers to life, and then slid under the blankets, pressing skin to skin. Outside, he could hear the winds roaring back to life, and he sighed. He had a duty to the castaway, but he also had a duty to keep the light burning. He could still see the beam slicing through the rain from a window, and he decided he would stay inside, unless the light died.

It was quiet, except for the sound of the storm, and the rattling of the windows and doors. The man dozed beside him, but he was gaining color, and warming up. His breaths grew stronger.

It was still dark when dawn came. There was no sun to announce the new day, only the chiming of the clock that had been there when Roxas had arrived.

"I'm Axel." Roxas startled at the sound of his voice. "Thanks for saving me."

"Of course. I'm Roxas. Axel, were you on a ship? Were there others?"

Brilliant green eyes stared at Roxas. Axel opened his mouth, then closed it. "I don't think they made it."

"Oh." Roxas didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he said "How about some coffee? And clothes." When Axel nodded, Roxas stood, wrapping one of the blankets around him. He slipped into his room for dry clothes, picking out a set of over-sized clothes for Axel and donning fresh trousers and a sweater, and set a kettle over the fire for coffee.

"Are you superstitious, Roxas?" The question was asked over a steaming mug of coffee, black and bitter and revitalizing.

Roxas cocked an eyebrow. "Not particularly."

Axel's lips quirked in a small smile. "You should be. It's not a good idea to work so near the big lake without a little appreciation for its magic. It's how you survive."

"Like you?"

Axel gave a low chuckle. "Yeah, like me."

"That was just luck."

Axel shrugged. "Call it what you will."

"And the rest of the crew from your boat? Aren't all sailors superstitious? What about them?"

Axel eyed him. "Perhaps their wills weren't strong enough."

The storm raged for three more days, the rain coming so hard that traveling to the village to find help for Axel was out of the question. Instead, Roxas and Axel passed the time playing cards, and talking. Axel had more than a few tales to share, some of them believable, some of them not, and some of them passed down from natives.

In between the stories, Roxas climbed the stairs to tend to the lighthouse beacon, checking the fuel, and thinking that, it had been a long time since he'd had companionship. He wasn't looking forward to Axel's departure, and perhaps that was why the days seemed to go so fast, despite the storm.

The storm broke with a blood red sunset, and Roxas swore that the weather had grown even colder. He fell asleep, shivering next to Axel, despite their shared body heat.

When Roxas woke again, he was still shivering, the hearth cold and dead.

Axel was gone.

Roxas made a circuit of the cottage, with no sign of the man.

He made a trip to the village, to search for Axel as much as for supplies, but inquiries after the sailor with red hair only earned him strange looks. He changed tact, and asked if any ships had disappeared during the storm.

Nothing. No news wired in. No distress calls reported.

"You've weathered your first real storm, young man. Gichi-gami has a mind of her own. She was teasing you." This from the old native, again.

And he was right. More storms came, and before long, the rains were freezing, and then turning into snow. The horizon beyond the lighthouse was gray and desolate. There were no passing travelers, and only rarely did Roxas see ships on the lake. He tended the light, and did little else. The cold made it hard to do much else. Books were his only companions.

Sometimes he had dreams.

He dreamed of falling, sinking to the depths of the lake, and gazing up at the night sky from under the water. He dreamed of Axel, lips blue with hypothermia, red hair dark and dripping with water, Axel drenched and drowning, and yet, his green eyes glowed with a piercing stare.

He dreamed of Axel, warm and dry, his lips pink, bare skin against Roxas's own, and a fire that burned through them both, fast and fervent, and still his eyes were bright, and Roxas woke, gasping, with insatiable desires.

And sometimes, when he woke, he found trails of water on the floor of the cottage, and that chilled him even more than the dreams.

He'd never felt so alone as he did through the first long winter of tending the lighthouse.

Spring brought more storms, though they held none of the bite of November's gales. He could make the trek into the village again, and the beginnings of green on the ground and in the trees were a relief from the grays and browns of winter. And yet, the color called to mind those piercing eyes burned into Roxas's mind.

Summer, and then autumn again, the passing time punctuated by letters from friends and family. Roxas thought he could read the lake's moods a little better with each new storm. He was beginning to understand the reverence with which the villagers spoke of it.

He was becoming superstitious, too, just a little bit.

Roxas dreamed of the late autumn storm the night before it arrived. He was on a ship, watching with a sinking stomach as waves crashed over the railing, felt sick with nausea as the boat was tossed by icy waters. _"Fellas, it's been good to know you."_ Roxas turned to the voice, clear despite the weather around them, and familiar. Axel's green eyes reflected a flash of lightning.

Roxas woke to thunder.

He scrambled up the stairs of the lighthouse to check the beacon. The clouds were still far off in the distance, highlighted by the rising sun, but they were rolling in fast. He'd learned just how fast the winds could carry this kind of storm. He watched from behind the glass as the sky darkened, the lake lashing the shore.

He watched the waves, and felt his blood turn cold at the sight of debris on the rocks. Déjà vu hit him full force as he descended the lighthouse tower, battling the wind.

Roxas stared at the rocks, disbelieving.

Axel lifted his head, his eyes piercing through the darkness.

Roxas wanted to run. He wanted to run, but yet, the dreams of Axel, and the memory of the time they'd shared the year before made him hesitate.

"Roxas…" The water tugged at Axel's ragged clothes, and Axel's knuckles were white as he clutched at a jutting stone.

Roxas picked his way closer, until he could extend a hand to Axel.

Axel's grip was strong, stronger than he remembered, and the rocks were slick, the waves crashing higher, over the tops of his boots. Roxas couldn't get enough leverage to pull Axel up.

He slipped.

Axel never let go of him, and they slid into the icy water together, the lake forcing them into the jagged edges of the shore, and then pulling them away again before either of the could anchor themselves.

Roxas's clothing was dead weight, heavy and constricting as he tried to stay above the surface, tried to swim away from the rocks that had already bruised him.

Axel's eyes glowed. His lips were blue, his skin gray, and Roxas was terrified, gulping down what air he could before the water could drag him down again.

Roxas felt himself sinking. He wondered, distantly, if he was dreaming again, but his dreams had never been quite this vivid, this frightening. He sank deeper, the lake pressing against him on all sides, and his lungs and eyes burned, and his hand where Axel's held him was hot, too, even though everything else was _so cold_. Above him, the storm raged. He watched the air rise away from him in bubbles, before darkness closed over his vision.

o - o

 _Superior, they said, never gives up her dead, when the gales of November come early._


End file.
